“I’m glad you’re going with her. Gather ye rosebuds, right?”

“Well, you know that old Bible verse—I go where she goes—or whatever it is. I haven’t been to church in a long time so don’t quote me on that.”

“You’re butchering the poor Book of Ruth. She and Naomi deserve better than that.”

“Were they fucking?”

Nora pursed her lips at him. “No. Ruth was Naomi’s daughter-in-law. Naomi’s husband died, and both her sons. She told her two daughters-in-law, Ruth and Orpah—”

“Oprah?”

“Orpah. She was a Moabite, not a talk-show host. Anyway, Naomi told Ruth and Orpah to go back to their families and find new husbands and start new lives. Orpah went away but Ruth refused to leave Naomi. What she said to Naomi was, ‘Do not ask me to leave you or forsake you / For wherever you go, I go...’”

“What?”

Nora stopped. She cocked her head. She laughed.

“That’s it,” she said.

“What’s it?”

“Nothing.” She looked at Thorny and grinned. “I mean, everything. I just figured something out. Thank you. Couldn’t have done it without you, Thorny.”

“Couldn’t have done what?”

“I hope you and Nadia have a very long and sexy life together. I have to go.”

“Don’t go. I owe you...so much. I owe you a ton. I can pay you or something?”

“You just helped me figure out how to save my priest.” She patted him on the cheek and resisted the urge to slap it just once to punish him for fucking her over. Considering how many men she’d used for sex the past couple of years, she gave him a pass. It had been very good sex after all.

Nora left Thorny and ran to her car. Tomorrow Søren was taking his Final Vows. The day after he’d leave her for Syria and for the rest of his life.

She turned on her car but she didn’t drive home.

Søren had told her two years ago to finish her Ruth story.

Tomorrow she would finally write the ending.

33

Final Vows

ON THE MORNING of the last Sunday in August, Nora stepped into the two-hundred-year-old Jesuit church in Harlem where Søren and fourteen other veteran Jesuits would take their Final Vows that day. Half an hour before the service began the pews already creaked with the weight of friends and family packed shoulder to shoulder waiting to watch their priests take the last vows they’d ever take in their lives. If they made it this far, they weren’t likely to leave the order. They’d been in it for twenty years at least, each and every one of them, and they’d decided to stay in the Jesuits until the end. Søren would die a Jesuit. That was what she wanted for him, because that’s what he wanted for himself. But he could be a Jesuit here, close to her and Kingsley. He didn’t have to go across the world to a war zone to do it. She’d give everything to keep him here, keep him safe.

And if everything was what he asked, everything was what she’d give him.

Nora walked nervously down the center aisle, the red carpet runner beneath her feet muffling the sound of her kitten heels on the hardwood. She looked for a seat somewhere close but not too close, where she could see but not be seen. Too late. A hand snaked out from a pew on the right and grabbed her wrist. Nora started and looked into the eyes of a young woman with dark hair cut in a stylish bob and a wearing a dress that cost more than Nora’s monthly mortgage payment.

“Don’t you dare act like you don’t remember me,” the woman said, her voice stern and imperious—exactly like her brother’s.

“Claire.” Nora felt the profoundest sense of relief when Claire wrapped her in a near painful embrace.

“Elle,” Claire breathed. “Too long.”

“Way too long,” Nora agreed, swallowing hard.

“You have to help me.” Claire sounded scared, desperate.

“I will,” Nora said.

“You will?”

Nora nodded against Claire’s shoulder.

“I do love him,” Nora said. “I didn’t leave him because I stopped loving him.”

“I know,” Claire said. “No could stop loving him once they start.”

Claire released her from the crushing hug, but held on to Nora’s hand. She didn’t seem ready or willing to let it go and Nora was grateful to her.

“I’m so glad you’re here,” Claire said. She had tears on her face. “I can’t do this alone.”

“I didn’t want to come.”

“Neither did I,” Claire said. “But I can’t tell him no.”

“Did you ask him not to leave?” Nora asked.

“I didn’t ask, I begged.” Claire stared straight ahead. She and Søren both had similar profiles—the same ears, the same cheekbones, the same ironic tilt to the mouth when they smiled. But Claire wasn’t smiling.

“Did he tell you anything about why he’s going?”

“One of the priests who visited him after his motorcycle accident is going, too. He’s the one who asked him to go. I can’t believe he said yes.” Claire squeezed Nora’s hand harder.

“I can,” Nora said. She didn’t want to believe it, but she could. She’d left him. Kingsley had staked his claim on her. She’d refused to return to him. What was keeping him here? Nothing.

“What are we going to do?” Claire asked.

“Pray.”

“Will it help?” Claire asked.

“It won’t hurt.”

The music started, a hymn Nora recognized. “Be Thou My Vision.”

All at once the entire assembly rose to their feet. Nora glanced around as everyone sang the hymn looking for any familiar faces. At last she found a row of them standing in the balcony.

“Did he pick the music?” Nora asked Claire.

“I don’t know. Why?”

“This is his favorite hymn.”

“His church seems to know it well.” Claire turned her head and looked up to the balcony. “I can hear them up there singing it.”

“Who?”

“Sacred Heart,” Claire said. “They’re all in the balcony. Over a hundred of them came.”

Nora looked back and up and saw faces she recognized including Diane’s and Diane’s family. She should be up there, Nora thought. She should be with Søren’s church. But she couldn’t be. She hadn’t just left him, she’d left them, too.

“That’s a third of the entire church,” she whispered to Claire.

“See?” Claire said. “Told you. Once you start loving him, you can never stop.”

Nora did love him and she would never stop loving him, which was why when he and the other fourteen Jesuits walked down the aisle and he turned his head to look at her, she smiled for him. He didn’t smile back, but she could tell he wanted to. She wished Kingsley were here to hold her other hand, but she didn’t blame him for not coming. He’d had to stand idly by and watch Søren marry Kingsley’s sister years ago. He couldn’t and wouldn’t stand idly by and watch the only man he’d ever loved pledge himself to yet another rival.

The Final Vows ceremony involved a full Mass and all fifteen priests assisted. They looked almost angelic in their off-white vestments lined up side by side. They were a motley crew from all over the world—Africa, Asia, South America, Mexico and the United States. Søren was one of the younger ones but not the youngest. Most definitely the handsomest. At least her in opinion.

When it came time for Communion, Nora went forward. She hadn’t taken Communion since before she left Søren. So it was fitting that she walked to his line and when he held up the wafer that was the Body of Christ, she let him place it on her tongue. When she swallowed it she felt an old wound she’d forgotten about. Then the old wound was gone, healed. The fissure in her heart sealed itself up and scarred over. The church sang a new hymn and the words spoke to her heart—Come home, come home...ye who are weary come home.

Old words. Trite words. And yet they cut Nora’s soul to the quick.

Nora was weary. And Nora did want to go home.

One by one each of the fifteen priests made their vows. When Søren knelt to speak his vows, Nora breathed in at the sight—the rare sight—of Søren, penitent and humble. When he spoke the vows, his voice was strong and clear and unwavering. His words carried throughout the church like an updraft and if Nora had wings she would have been able to fly.